Chapter 26 Violet
Chapter twenty-six
Violet
I sense the heat of his body before I open my eyes. Waking up next to him never gets old—his beautiful bronze form wrapped around mine like a shield. I trace the dragonfly tattoo climbing his spine, wings splayed across his broad shoulder blades.
Sleeping is the most vulnerable you’ll ever see Chase.
The thick black lashes, wasted on a man, lie still against the sharp cut of his cheekbones.
Seeing him like this feels like a gift, one that only I get to witness.
I slip from beneath the sheets and tiptoe to the bathroom.
It was just after three when he finally came to bed.
I’d pretended to be asleep, but the moment he pulled me into his arms, the chaos in my chest quieted.
As I brush my teeth, I study my reflection in the mirror, giving myself a mental pep-talk. No more doubting what’s real. No more letting ghosts from my father’s betrayal shape the way I love. It makes me happy being with Chase. It would hurt too much to walk away.
If waking up next to Chase is my favorite thing, his shower comes a close second. The water beats down like tropical rain, warm and hypnotic. Humming, I lather his rich body wash until I smell just like him.
A gasp breaks from my throat when strong hands grip my waist.
“Chase,” I breathe, startled—but then his mouth is on mine, hungry and demanding.
His touch roams every inch of me like he’s imprinting the memory of me onto his skin.
He kisses down my neck and wraps his lips around my nipple, making my face arch into the spray of water.
And then he’s lifting me, pressing me back against the tiles, guiding my leg around his waist. One hard thrust, and I’m full—every thought scattering like ashes.
I’ve no idea why he’s woken up with the devil in his bones, but I’m past caring as my back slaps against the wet tiles.
This isn’t our usual lazy morning sex. It’s almost fevered.
When he thrusts into me, it’s rough, desperate—like he’s chasing something he can’t catch.
His mouth finds mine again, muffling the moans he draws from me with every pump.
His rhythm is wild, punishing, but there’s tenderness in his eyes as they lock on mine.
“My beautiful Violet,” he whispers like a mantra between kisses, like he needs me to hear it.
Believe it. “I need you to come for me.”
And when I do, it’s all-consuming, a jolt that crashes through me without warning, ripping the breath from my lungs as his name breaks from my lips.
He’s right behind me; a low groan echoes through his chest as he drives deep and holds, like letting go would break him.
But even as we come undone, something seems off. As his eyes burn into mine, there’s a pain in the heat that I’ve never seen before. We stand there in the steam, flushed and breathless. His hands cradle my face, brushing wet strands of hair from my cheeks with a tenderness that undoes me.
He presses a dizzying kiss on my lips like he’s pouring everything into it. “I love you, Violet Harper,” he murmurs into my mouth. “Never forget that.”
I stare at him, stunned.
He loves me?
Warmth curls through my veins like the sweetest chocolate, but before I even process my thoughts, he’s gone, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist. I turn off the water and step out, still dripping, confused, as he moves through the motions with the same cold detachment I’ve faced all week.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, sliding my arms around his waist, my hands caressing his solid abs.
His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Yes, baby, just work stuff.” He disentangles himself from my arms, takes off his towel, and walks casually back through to the bedroom to get dressed as if he didn’t just tell me he loved me.
I mean, it’s not like I was expecting Cupid to float down on a cloud with an orchestra of violinists, but now I’m second-guessing whether I imagined the whole thing.
I dry off, wrapping myself in a robe and brushing through my wet hair. He appears in the bathroom doorway, looking divine in a charcoal suit. He strides toward me and pulls me in for a tender kiss. “I have an early meeting, so I have to go now, but I’ve arranged another car for you.”
“Okay, thank you.” My eyes search his face, looking for something. I’m not sure what. Maybe a sign that this isn’t some fever dream.
“Let’s go out for dinner tonight?” He says.
“Yeah, sure.”
“And this weekend...” He hesitates for the briefest moment, then runs a hand through his hair like the words cost him something. “I’ll take you away.”
I don’t have a chance to reply before his cell rings and he’s gone.
When I step into my office, I know something’s wrong.
The air feels off. Too still. Like someone muted the world the second I walked in. That dark cloud I’ve been dragging around all week hasn’t lifted — it’s only thickened.
And then I see it.
The first red flag:
My desk.
Empty.
Not tidy. Not cleared for cleaning. Empty.
No monitor. No keyboard. Not even the dumb Elmo mug Seb gave me last Christmas.
I force myself to move, crossing the room as if I haven’t noticed, but I can feel them — the stares people think they’re hiding behind monitors and half-drained cappuccinos.
My chest tightens, ribs cinching around my lungs.
“Vi.” Seb’s voice is gentle, the only one brave enough to meet my eyes. “Hey.”
“Where’s my stuff?” I whisper. I don’t even know why I’m whispering — the question seems wrong at full volume. “What is this? Surprise yard sale?”
A flicker of a smile ghosts his lips before the solemn expression returns. “They’re bringing it back,” he says, like that explains anything.
Before I can ask more, my phone rings.
“Violet, this is Zara. Austen’s secretary.” Her voice is flat—all business. No warmth. “He’s waiting for you in Boardroom 14A. Please come now.”
She hangs up before I can respond.
The cloud mushrooms, pressing against my chest until there’s no air left.
Each step to the boardroom feels like walking to the edge of a cliff, the ground already crumbling under my feet.
I reach the door, pausing, hand resting on the handle. Straighten my shoulders. Lift my chin. Fake strength. I push the door open.
The click of it shutting behind me closes against my throat.
They’re already seated.
Austen. Devlin. A woman from HR — the same one who denied my leave request when Mom was sick. I already hate her. Legal counsel, grim-faced. And at the far end of the table: Chase.
Stone still.
Expression carved from granite.
My stomach drops.
“Violet,” Austen says, gesturing toward the empty seat. “Thanks for coming.”
I sit. Slow. Careful. Like the wrong move might snap the floor out from under me.
“We’ll begin,” Austen says, voice too even. Too calm. “You’re aware there’s been an internal investigation regarding a leak of Monarch project materials?”
He nods at Devlin, who opens a folder like he’s assembling a weapon.
“Sensitive files were accessed without authorization. Strategy notes. Architecture drafts. Internal code names.”
Austen picks it up. “The log traces the breach to your credentials. And several files were downloaded onto an external device.”
My throat locks. “That can’t be right. I didn’t download anything.”
Devlin’s gaze doesn’t shift. “Outbound data packets were tracked from your machine to a third-party server.” He pauses, his expression turning grave. “That server was traced to Elliot Hargreaves.”
The name smacks the air from my lungs.
“I didn’t—” My voice fractures. “Someone must’ve used my laptop. It could have been unlocked, maybe—once or twice—”
Even as I say it, I hear the cracks in my excuse.
“You’re responsible for your access,” Legal cuts in. “Regardless of who was using the device. That’s protocol.”
But Devlin isn’t done.
“We also found a printed Monarch proposal draft hidden in your desk, marked as confidential. Not authorized for physical removal.”
My mind blanks. The words float past like they belong to someone else.
Austen slides a manila folder across the table. “We also have evidence you met Elliot off-site.”
I hesitate. Then open it.
Photos.
Me and Elliot. Smiling over coffee. His hand on my arm. The goddamn umbrella.
“What? No—no, I only saw him once.” My denial tumbles out too fast. “It wasn’t planned. I didn’t know he’d be there. I haven’t spoken to him since—”
“Don’t,” Chase says.
His voice is quiet, but it stops me cold.
When I look at him, I find nothing there. No trace of the man I was stupidly falling in love with.
“You have one chance to tell the truth, Violet. Right now. I suggest you use it wisely.”
He lifts the picture of us, sharing the stupid cakes, like the sight of it physically pains him, and tosses it in my direction.
“You expect us to believe you just ‘bumped into’ the man who’s been trying to take down everything we built?” His voice cuts deeper, heavy with disbelief. “This isn’t what coincidence looks like.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. It feels like I’m strapped into a train that’s veering off the tracks, and I can’t do a thing to stop it.
“You were the one person,” he says, tone sharp enough to draw blood, “I thought I’d never have to question.”
“I wasn’t working for him.” The words finally scrape out of me. I sit taller in the chair, planting my palm down over the photo. “I didn’t give Elliot anything. I didn’t access the files.”
But the way he looks at me — like I’m already lost — makes my temper flare, anger rising to burn away the ache pressing behind my ribs.
“None of it is true,” I bite out, my voice tightening. “I don’t even—”
“Stop.” Chase’s voice snaps through the room, the harsh sound enough to freeze the air. His hands are gripping the table so tightly his knuckles are white. “Just stop, Violet. This is embarrassing.”
“Excuse me?” My voice spikes, incredulous.
Chase leans back, his expression turning colder, like he’s forcing himself to feel nothing at all.